With Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day coming up on Oct. 15, I’d like to share about my baby boy. I want to tell all mothers, fathers, and families that no matter how short your baby’s time may be, each one is a profound gift worth remembering, worth thinking about, and worth learning from.
I believe that a soul enters the body at the time of conception. It does not matter whether the vessel is called an embryo or a fetus or a body, the soul is already present. I believe this in my heart and in my bones, not simply because of my faith but because I have carried life twice. Both times I could feel a spark of life deep in my belly, a spark that was not of my body, in very early days. I could feel it before any pregnancy test on earth would have been able to confirm it.
The first time I was terrified of the responsibility of being a mother and I gave birth to a fiery, clever, creative, and passionate little girl. The second time I was more terrified in some ways and less in others about motherhood. When my daughter was nearly two, I gave birth to my son. It is he who I would like to tell you about today.
It is plain to see that a mother’s body is home to her children. She carries them in her womb, then in her arms and forever in her heart. Yet I did not realize until my son stopped breathing that my children’s bodies are also home to me.
Joseph, my baby Joey, was born with a tremor in his arms and legs and with heavy, congested breathing. No expert or scan could find an underlying cause and so we faithfully waited for him to grow out of these worrying issues. He was a tiny baby, but he was mighty. His little newborn arms could not reach all the way around me, yet his hugs were incredibly grounding and restorative and powerfully comforting.
He grew fast, smiled lots, and had a joyful coo that could break open the hardest heart. His smile lit up not just his face but his entire body; his little legs would stretch and his feet would kick out, carrying the smile to his toes. He radiated love, joy and appreciation for life and the world around him.
He loved to be in my or his father’s arms, cuddled in heart to heart. When his big sister was in the vicinity, he could not take his eyes off her. The sound of her voice was enough to start an eruption of his smiles, even if he had been in the middle of a disgruntled wail. He had piercing light blue eyes and a quiet, radiating strength like his daddy and a round face and gentle spirit like me. He had white blonde hair that liked to stick straight up and always managed to catch the light.
I had two beautiful babies and I felt that my life was complete, my greatest dreams were fulfilled, the only thing left to do was enjoy it and give thanks.
He loved to be in my or his father’s arms, cuddled in heart to heart. When his big sister was in the vicinity, he could not take his eyes off her. The sound of her voice was enough to start an eruption of his smiles, even if he had been in the middle of a disgruntled wail. He had piercing light blue eyes and a quiet, radiating strength like his daddy and a round face and gentle spirit like me. He had white blonde hair that liked to stick straight up and always managed to catch the light.
I had two beautiful babies and I felt that my life was complete, my greatest dreams were fulfilled, the only thing left to do was enjoy it and give thanks.
At around four or five months old Joey stopped growing so well; at around six he got quieter. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lost the ability to hold up his head. At eight months, the tremors from birth returned after months of complete absence and his breathing became increasingly heavier and louder. We saw many professionals, had a couple long hospital stays, and then our family of four moved into Canuck Place for palliative care.
It happened quickly, a strong little body softened inside and out. A happy baby’s exuberance dimmed. In the predawn darkness of Easter morning Joey returned to his Father in heaven, snuggled into the warmth of his earthly father. He was exactly 10 months old. He had a rare metabolic disorder, a tiny anomaly in his lysosomes, a component of the cell.
I believe that every soul has a path and a God-given job. Until his last breath, Joey was a miraculous reminder of God’s love and the sacredness of creation. If someone came close and connected with him, he would share his most charming smiles and give them his full attention. Even if that someone happened to be a nurse who had recently poked him with a needle. When we went outside for our morning walks or played in our yard, he was always struck at the beauty of the sunlight filtering through the trees. Near the end, when he grew too tired to cuddle in, he would hold my fingers in his hands. Those simple touches were just as affirming as his hugs.
Joey will always be a member of our family and he still has a strong daily presence in our lives. My daughter likes to tell me what he is doing in heaven. He is often doing the exact same thing that she is doing, or he is eating some kind of special candy she has imagined for him, like Pegasus candy.
We will always celebrate his birthday and heaven anniversary and we light candles for him at Mass every Sunday. Come December his stocking will be hung again with ours, only it will be filled with gifts for the family to share, instead of presents for a little boy. Our house is, and always will be, filled with pictures and mementos of him.
No matter when a family loses a little one to heaven, be it a miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss, that little one is a permanent member of their family. Please ask us about our babies and say their names. It honours their life, and it honours our love. No matter how short their time, each one is a profound gift worth remembering, worth thinking about and worth learning from.
Every night since Joey died his sister has slept with his favourite blanket and every day she takes care of his toys. Not long ago, at the beach one evening, she was watching siblings in other families playing more closely than usual. After some quiet contemplation she said to me, “I wish Joey was here. I wish I could hold his hand and walk around.”
I wish for that and for many other things. I wish that you, dear reader, could have met him. Our wishes will probably never cease, but neither will our memories, our love or our gratitude for the chance to meet and know Joey.
If I am the Velveteen Rabbit then Joey is my Skin Horse, constantly pointing me to what is real. He made loving unconditionally and being present, being real, so natural and easy. He never learned to speak but he taught me more about God’s love and the importance of life than a library or a lifetime of sermons ever could. He forced me to feel it. And so, after all that has come to pass, there is only one thing left to do. I give thanks.
Brittany Garisto is a proud wife and stay-at-home mom. She is a member of Star of the Sea Parish in South Surrey.
Every October Gardens of Gethsemani holds a special Mass in honour or our little ones lost during pregnancy or soon after birth. Check our events page for details: rccav.org/events
